


I blame you for that

by CelticGHardy



Category: The Following
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticGHardy/pseuds/CelticGHardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Mike never visited Ryan in the hospital after the attack. As far as he knew. There was a period after the surgery where he was unconscious. That might have been when he did visit and wasn't able to get back. The FBI probably had him hunting down Molly and Emma, others that escaped when Joe left the mansion.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Information spoilers from season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I blame you for that

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt atonement. Hopefully, I didn't fully spell it out.
> 
> And SPOILERS for some of the things that have come out when discussing season 2.
> 
> Title is what Parker said to Ryan in 1x12. Ghost her is blaming him for Mike's problems.

Mike never visited Ryan in the hospital after the attack. As far as he knew. There was a period after the surgery where he was unconscious. That might have been when he did visit and wasn't able to get back. The FBI probably had him hunting down Molly and Emma, others that escaped when Joe left the mansion.

When Parker's funeral came, he was allowed to leave the hospital under strict orders about what not to do. Jenny brought over a dark suit that was slightly big for him. The drive over was quiet and he had to walk carefully to get to the gathering of mostly other agents that had come to pay their respects. Mitchell was sitting next to Mike. Physically, he looked fine. The cut on his forehead was gone, no sign of the bruising or anything else that happened. 

Emotionally, he looked wrung out. 

He watched him during the eulogy. There were a couple of swipes to keep tears off his face. He shook his head at Mitchell when people were asked to come up and say a few words. A couple of agents went up to say something. Parker's sister read a poem from a book he didn't quite recognize. Ryan didn't go up. A few of them glared when they had even seen him there. Mike didn't acknowledge him. He started to walk over to him, but Mike left before he could reach out.

Neither of them saw each other for a few months. Ryan got a guest position at a college. He couldn't deny the small amount of humor that came from the fact he was teaching. He didn't really pay attention to news concerning the remaining members of the cult. He may have caught something about the hunt for Emma, or Molly. It wasn't one of his favorite subjects.

He had stayed later than normal, getting papers graded. There was a small thought on how Joe must have fared with grading. Some of the answers and essays were making his brain bleed. What did kids learn in high school? His cell went off and he barely checked before answering. “Ryan Hardy,” he answered.

“You fucking left,” a garbled voice accused him over the phone.

“What?” he muttered. He pulled the phone back to see who was calling him. _Mike? What the hell?_

“They won't let me work out in the field,” he whined, “The shrink they keep sending me to is a complete asshole. He doesn't understand; none of them do. Debra would have understood but she died and you left me with her body and fucking shot at me with a gun.” There was a pause while he sobbed the last part.

Ryan then heard the splash of a liquid inside a glass bottle. _He's drunk?_ “How much, Mike?”

“Why? Why do you care?” he slurred, “There's no reason for you to care. You put up with me during the case, and you may have cared since I knew about Claire and didn't give up her location. And then the shit with Joe. But we lost Debra and you shot at me, and you knew I wasn't okay and you went with her. You don't care.” _Either he's a very light drunk, or he's had about as much as me on one of my bad days._ He started packing up. Mike probably wouldn't let him in, but he wasn't getting much done here tonight. “Nobody cares,” he mumbled.

“Hey, Mike, that's not true,” he argued. There wasn't a response on the other end. He heard the phone drop out of his hand and hit something. “Mike? Talk to me.” He couldn't get him back. “Shit.”

Ryan ran out to his car, looking up the address of where Mike should live. Once inputted into his GPS, he drove off, redialing Mike. If his phone was going off, he either wasn't hearing it or he couldn't get to it. Both worried him.

It took an hour to get to a relatively nice apartment building. There wasn't any security stopping him from entering and heading up to the apartment that was listed. He knocked twice, listening for anything inside. “Mike?” he called in, waiting for an answer. There still wasn't anything from him. He checked the doorknob, assuming it was going to be locked. It wasn't, to his surprise and horror. He walked in carefully, expecting something to jump out. Joe was dead, but there were still others. If any of the followers knew that Mike was still alive, they weren't acting on the information. Yet.

A whine coming from the living room led him to a dog patting at his owner's face and not getting a response. He winced at the sight of Mike, vodka bottle surprisingly still held in his clutch. A puddle of puke was next to his mouth and he carefully checked to make sure he hadn't drowned in it. There was a groan as he started checking for a pulse. His eyes carefully cracked open to see Ryan standing over him. “I gotta be hallucinating,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, well, you're not,” he grunted. “Come on, get you in the bathroom. Clean up.” He pulled him into a sitting position, removing the bottle and setting it out of his reach.

“Why are you here?” he asked, watching the vodka become hard to get.

“You dropped your phone,” he explained, “It hung up.”

“Sorry?” he wavered. Ryan had to keep himself in check. He was apologizing to him and he sounded young. _He shouldn't be apologizing; he has nothing to apologize for._ Instead of saying anything, he surged out to stop Mike from grabbing the bottle. The older man stopped him easily. “Give it back.”

“No,” he denied, “You don't need any more.”

“Doesn't matter, stay at my desk all fucking day,” he moaned.

“I'm sure they love the messed typing,” he quipped.

“My handwriting's the best,” he joked back. Then, he frowned. Ryan helped him up and into the bathroom before he started puking again. Barely making it, he stepped back when the acidic smell came up. It lasted for a few minutes until the only thing was dry hacking. He managed to flush, but didn't get up. Mike was carefully pulled up so he could get to his sink and rinse his mouth.

“Come on, get you some sleep,” he led, keeping him up to get him to the bedroom. He held him over the bed and allowed him to drop. The shirt had puke drops on it. He removed it carefully and tossed it into an overloaded hamper. He paused, seeing old scars litter his back and the tops of his arms. He hated the implications of it, hated what it made him think. “Hey, think you can get your pants off?” Rather than watch, he turned around to look for a t-shirt for him to wear. He didn't think Mike would like it if they were on display. He found what must have been a pajama drawer and pulled out a white shirt that he placed nearby before walking out.

The dog had started licking up the puke, and he shooed him away before grabbing some towels to place down over it. It was a quick swipe to get up the majority, and some of it was left behind. His dog wasn't interested in it any more. Instead, it followed him around when he brought a large glass of water back to the bedroom. Mike had put on the shirt, and removed his pants. Ryan put the water on his side table. He maneuvered him into lying down, covering him with the comforter. “Why are you caring for me?” he mumbled, “Nobody cares about me. Not unless I have something they want.”

“Mike...”

“You only started caring after you found out I knew about Claire's location.”

_That is not true. It's not; I panicked after I saw you on the ground when the cult cop shot you. How come you don't remember that?_ “When did I ever indicate I only cared because I found out you knew that?” he questioned.

“You didn't have to.”

“You got it wrong,” he stated, “You heard when I talked about my father. My brother died in nine-eleven. My Mom died of cancer before I hit middle school. Jenny got hurt on the case. A friend of mine is still in the hospital after I went to him. We lost Parker and then I lost Claire. If I care about someone, they get hurt. The majority of them die.” Mike looked up at him. “I believed if I didn't let them in, they couldn't get hurt. They wouldn't die so soon if they weren't around me.”

He started struggling with the comforter, which was a lost fight. He just slumped after a minute. “It's not true,” he tried saying.

“Mike, you were shot,” he explained, “Kidnapped, beaten, stabbed, and tortured by Joe when you were around me.”

“And you're the reason why I'm alive,” he pointed out. “Your friend is only in the hospital. Jenny's alive. Parker....” He wiped rapidly forming tears out. “ _He_ planned it. If we had started looking right after, it wouldn't have mattered because they delivered the phone number too late. And I chose to have the information on Claire Matthews. Not because of you, but because I could handle it.” Unable to keep himself awake, Ryan watched him collapse on the pillows.

He should leave. The point of coming over was to make sure Mike hadn't died in some way. Instead, he felt bad about leaving him. _He said he had a brother that cared about him. Why haven't they gotten together? And shit, even if the others didn't, hearing about his near-death experience should have been something for them to try and repair their relationships. Why doesn't he have anyone here?_

He went back and made sure the puke was completely cleaned up. The dog had settled near his owner. Ryan pulled out his bag and started on the papers he didn't finish and had a stray thought on what Mike's papers would have looked like in college.

-

He groaned, loudly. Vodka hangovers were the some of the worse. Not as bad as whiskey, which is what Mike switched over to when he started having problems completing paper assignments. He saw the large glass on the table along with an aspirin and choked both down quickly before stumbling over to his bathroom and relieving himself.

Max started whining for attention. “All right, all right, I don't know if I have your favorite,” he grumbled, slowly moving out to feed him. At the entrance of the living room, he paused when he saw Ryan. “You're here.”

“Yep,” he reiterated, going over papers.

“Thought I was hallucinating.”

“You said that last night.”

“Okay.” He walked over to his kitchen and switched the grounds before starting up his coffee maker. He checked around for wet dog food before realizing he was out and dumped out the rest of the dry to give the dog.

Coffee done, he filled up two mugs and remembered how Ryan kept making his before walking back and handing it to him. “Thanks.” He sat down on his couch and slipped the too hot liquid. He waited until Mike had settled with his coffee. “How many times have you drunk yourself unconscious?”

He glared at him. “You've done it before,” he accused.

“Yeah, and I paid for it,” he regretted, “My various doctors are surprised I'm still as healthy as I am. I drove away my sister. I lost time being with Claire.”

“Well, it's a good thing I don't have anyone.”

“That is complete and utter shit,” he swore, “What about your brothers? You have at least one that cares. The others should watch TV; whatever stupid shit you had in the past shouldn't keep them from being family.”

He snorted, but it was to cover up a small sob. “It wasn't stupid. Still isn't.”

“All right, fine, but near-death experiences should force them to put it aside,” he argued. Mike bowed his head, not willing to be seen. “Has anybody called?”

“Mom...” he croaked, “She tried at some point; I never got back. The brother that I get along with well and another that I haven't talked to in years. The first one's busy and the second...”

“You're not sure.” He nodded, swiping his face. “Try. Reach out to them. There's not much left to lose. Hey,” he professed, making sure he had his attention, “I messed up. I don't want you to do what I did.” He checked the time and realized he had to get going to make his class. Ryan got up and gathered his stuff. He picked up the cell phone that had been relocated at one point and placed it in his hand. “Call them.” He walked out the door, waiting until he picked out a specific number before fully leaving. He was already planning another visit within a couple of days. Someone should be there to make sure Mike didn't over drink again. It might as well be him.

**Author's Note:**

> I really missed the opportunity for a complete sobfest with Mike. I should remedy that for next time.


End file.
